


Of Buttons and Petticoats

by ClydeThistles



Series: Victorian Music Hall AU - Yennaia [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crossdressing, F/F, Flash Fic, Tipping the Velvet vibes, Victorian Clothing, Yennaia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25998691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Sequel to 'The Girl I Love Is Up In The Gallery'.Tissaia meets Yennefer backstage.'Fingersmith' n. a pickpocket or midwife, one who is skilled at using their fingers for delicate, complex tasks
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Victorian Music Hall AU - Yennaia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905364
Comments: 6
Kudos: 48





	Of Buttons and Petticoats

When a stagehand informs her Ms Yenna has invited her backstage, Tissaia lacks the ill-manners (or the desire) to do anything but accept. The door is a soft cream colour, recently painted, and sports a brass star polished to a gleam affixed above a little card with flowing script _Ms Yenna Violet_. Tissaia is unfamiliar with music hall etiquette but even she can tell that a special effort has been made for this particular artiste. The stagehand knocks and then opens the door for Tissaia, ushering her through. He has the audacity to wink at her and Tissaia bristles at the lewd suggestiveness. Loud enough to be heard through the door by anyone eavesdropping, Tissaia announces to the apparently empty room,

“I fear, madam, I have given you the wrong impression. I am not accustomed to meeting young ladies in their dressing rooms nor to being the subject of gossip and titillation. I would be grateful if you would communicate this to your associates, and in future, remember that some of us have reputations to consider.”

She punctuates this chastisement with arched eyebrows and her hands clasped tightly at her waist. The woman emerges from behind a painted dressing-screen in her shirtsleeves, her tails draped over her arm, looking sheepish,

“Forgive me, I did not think. Only I was so very eager to see you again and…”

She trails off and bites her lower lip apologetically which induces all manner of reactions within Tissaia, but she clears her throat and remains stern looking,

“We shall draw a line under this misjudgement. And now that I am here, might I at least have the pleasure of your name? You seem to have uncovered mine already.”

“It is no secret; it is painted above your shop.”

She says it teasingly, a cheeky grin tugging at her mouth and Tissaia cannot help softening in the warmth of it. She allows a little chuckle and unpins her hat, a sure way of communicating one’s intention to stay longer than politeness requires. It makes the younger woman smile and she pulls up a chair for Tissaia at her dressing table, nudging it in at the back of her knees as Tissaia lowers herself, just like a real gentleman would. Then she straddles the other chair, leaning her forearms on the back of it.

“Yenna is my stage name but you may call me Yennefer if you wish.”

“Yennefer. A pleasure.”

Tissaia holds out her gloved hand, expecting Yennefer to shake it but she must still be in character because she lifts it to her mouth and grazes Tissaia’s knuckles with her lips,

“The pleasure is mine, Ms de Vries, I can assure you.”

Tissaia pinks but manages to keep her voice steady, “Tissaia will be acceptable I think.”

Yennefer smiles then stands, “Would you excuse me while I change?”

And then, without further preamble, she has ducked behind the screen and Tissaia can hear the rustle of fabric, the pop of buttons and the draw of laces being undone. The screen is solid, but it is fabric and there is a lamp behind it so Tissaia is faced with the torturous pleasure of seeing Yennefer’s shadowy outline but none of the details. Suddenly aware of what she is doing, she snaps her eyes away from the screen, fixing her gaze resolutely on a corner of the room. She has almost succeeded in steadying her pulse when Yennefer swears,

“Confound it all! Would you lend me hand? My dresser has taken the night off and I’m all fingers and thumbs when it comes to collars.”

Tissaia swallows very hard and then, quite of their own volition, her legs carry her to behind the screen. Yennefer has kicked off her oxfords and succeeded in removing her waistcoat, braces dangling from her waistband, but the stiff-winged collar is still fastened round her throat. Yennefer gestures at it helplessly and Tissaia steps forward, removing her gloves,

“Here, allow me. Just a little towards the light, that’s it.”

Tissaia slowly undoes the bowtie, then works the mother-of-pearl stud free before turning Yennefer round and stretching up to undo the back stud. The stiff collar detaches from the shirt and she pulls it away leaving Yennefer’s throat exposed. She rubs it gratefully, easing the red indentations in her skin from the stiff edge.

“You are more familiar with gentlemen’s clothing than I had imagined.”

“On the contrary, it is entirely foreign to me. But my fingers are used to complex tasks that require delicacy and precision.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing round her mouth, but Tissaia keeps her attention on her task, unfastening the shirt studs and cufflinks with deft fingers.

“Quite the fingersmith… have you ever considered a career as a pickpocket?”

Tissaia flushes because it is clear from Yennefer’s tone just what sort of pocket she is suggesting Tissaia dips her fingers into. Keen to flummox the younger woman and regain some of her dignity, Tissaia slides the braces from her shoulders and turns her once more to undo the buckle at her back that prevents the shirt front from riding up. Yennefer’s breath hitches and Tissaia smirks before drawing the shirt up through her fingers, pulling the hem from the waistband of her trousers.

“Will there be anything else?”

“I can manage the gentleman’s attire but my corset…”

“I shall return when you are ready to be laced.”

Tissaia steps out but not before she catches a glimpse of what lies beneath the now open shirt. She tries to still the tumbling in her stomach as she waits but nearly trips over her own feet in her eagerness when Yennefer calls for her. Yennefer is stood in a chemise and white stockings, an intricately arranged chignon pinned to her hair. The handsome youth has morphed into a beautiful woman and Tissaia could not say which she preferred if her life depended on it. The corset is front-fastening and Tissaia must reach around Yennefer, doing up the clasps blind, her breath ghosting against Yennefer’s bare shoulder. As she fastens across Yennefer’s bosom there is a hint of resistance, but she stretches the corset firmly over the swell of her breasts. Yennefer’s heaving ribcage is doing little to help but Tissaia would not have her any other way. When she pulls on the laces to cinch in her waist, Yennefer gasps.

“Too tight?”

“No, it’s just, I’ve never known someone with the strength to do it in one pull.”

“A firm hand is all it takes, my dear.”

Tissaia leaves her to pull on her petticoats, skirts and bodice, sinking into the chair and running a finger round the high collar and lacy neckpiece of her gown, conscious of the rosy glow on her high cheekbones. When Yennefer emerges as an elegant young woman with silky skirts and feathers in her hair, Tissaia sighs. She cannot choose between Yennefer in trousers or Yennefer in skirts and, mercifully, she does not have to because both become regular sights in the days that follow. 


End file.
